Below on the left is an image that caught my eye, and as happens often, it made me think of the story behind it. Was it an accident? A suicide? And then I realized—with her outstretched arms, hair whipping over her eyes—she looked like a lost and falling angel. What could cause her to fall? […]
Are you a lucky little lady in the City of Light? Or just another lost angel… City of Night…” —Jim Morrison She had misjudged when they would take her wings; punishment for her questions, her doubts. For her the fall was real. Pain. She knew that was what they—humans—called it. But had never felt […]
With thanks to Dan Caldwell; something we talked about inspired this story. He slowed the rocker when he heard the steps come out onto the wooden-floored porch. His eyesight was failing, but hearing was still sharp as ever. Those boards—how they sounded when trod on—told him it was his great-grandchildren. “Alice… and Jimmy, you came to […]
A little warm-up writing (draft) from this morning’s coffee… (spurred by this image and a ‘mock’ cover I created that could one day be a real story). Spring had died, drowned by the climbing mercury in the giant thermometer on the brick wall of Tilson’s bar she could see by day in rising and fading […]
On those evenings, the backyard would become thick with fireflies; a dozen and more points of light. I’d sit on the steps and watch the little gold sparks wink in and out of the shorter grass close to the house as they moved towards the tall grass further back.
I was running late to The Athenaeum, a museum of fine arts in Alexandria, Virginia, for a book event. My Uber driver following his GPS directions had taken a convoluted route, going God knows where, that I had to override from the back seat and tell him how to get close enough for the directions […]
Sometimes creation is spurred by a plan, a predetermined action. I’ve found it’s also triggered often by something random. A sound, smell… a picture or image… sometimes a place or setting. All of them have an effect. Music is intense for me. It, sometimes a specific song, transports me into a vivid memory. Songs figure […]
Every picture tells a story… He was still young, almost 18, but many—no, most—would say too old to swing like a child. But the motion soothed him; a subconscious sense he could change his perceptions by mere movement. A shifting of view that revealed more of the world… and himself. To see what was before […]
She watched the old man, who had brought her there, as he went about adding more forgettable things to what was already forgotten.
As I write this—from my Pandora random station shuffle—Joan Baez is singing, ‘The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down.’ A song written by Robbie Robertson and originally recorded by the Canadian-American roots rock group The Band in 1969. It’s a first-person narrative relating the economic and social distress experienced by a poor white Southerner during […]